


Boys Will Be Boys

by alakewood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alakewood/pseuds/alakewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen!chesters.  This is as close to normal as Sam and Dean ever get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys Will Be Boys

The original plan had been to leave at eleven and head up to Bobby's – they were supposed to meet John there late that afternoon. However, a summer storm rolled in with the promise of severe weather – a possibility of tornadoes, one of the meteorologists had warned before power in the whole apartment building went out.

The phone still worked – something that always mystified Dean – so Sam had called Bobby to tell him that they wouldn't be there until later than night. He added that Dean wasn't going to take the chance of the Impala getting hail damage, then promised that he'd call before they left.

Dean had been restless from the first moment the electricity went out. He did a weapons inventory then cleaned all the guns. In the two hours it took to do all that, the storm had only strengthened, thunder booming almost directly overhead. Also, in that time, the temperature in the small apartment had increased steadily to the point where the humidity felt like a physical weight.

Sam cracked the kitchen window above the sink open as well as the two in the living room hoping to circulate some of the cool outside air through the apartment. Satisfied with the slight breeze, he returned to the kitchen table where he'd situated himself with a battery-powered lantern and a couple of John's books.

Meanwhile, Dean had dug out his old walkman and a couple of mix tapes.

It started with humming, which Sam could tune out with little effort. But, within fifteen minutes, the humming had escalated into Dean's full-out singing. "Dean!"

His brother's head popped up over the back of the couch. He pulled the headphones back from one ear. "Huh?"

"I swear, the only thing more annoying than having you for a brother, would be having some kind of flesh-eating disease."

Dean was actually offended. "Tell me how you _really_ feel, Sammy."

"It's _Sam._ "

"Sammykins."

"Dean."

" _Samantha_."

" _Dean._ "

Struck a nerve with that one. Apparently Sam didn't know how to play this game. "Oh, am I _annoying_ you, _Samantha_?"

"You're such a jerk!"

"And you're a bitch. Get over it."

Sam took a deep, steadying breath as he closed the rituals text. Glancing up from under his hair, he made eye contact with Dean, who was watching him expectantly. Standing and pushing in his chair, Sam continued to hold Dean's gaze.

Dean finally started to get a little nervous, the cocky arch of his eyebrows faltering. "What?" The question was barely out of his mouth before Sam came flying over the back of the couch and tackled him to the floor. "Sam!"

Because he had the element of surprise, Sam got a couple really good hits in early. He'd show his brother how much of a girl he wasn't.

"Dude, what the hell?" At first, Dean wasn't fighting back, more just trying to block Sam's punches. But when he realized that Sam wasn't going to back off – that this was his way of playing Dean's game – he decided that, maybe, Sam shouldn't start fights he couldn't win.

There were, literally, no punches held.

The whole fight lasted twenty minutes, tops, but one of the coffee table legs ended up busted off, the lamp was knocked off the end table onto the floor, and the couch got shoved a few feet back.

"Are you done?" Dean asked harshly, backing away from Sam, breathing hard. They were both sitting on the floor, opposite sides of the living room, backs pressed against the walls.

Sam wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, almost surprised to see the blood smeared across it. He gave Dean a half-smile. "For now."

"Dad'll be pissed if you bleed on the carpet. Go get cleaned up."

Even though Sam didn't follow orders given by Dean, he did as he was told simply for the fact that yeah, John would be pissed. A couple years back they'd learned that bloodstains, no matter how tiny or faint, would ensure that the security deposit paid on the apartment wouldn't be refunded.

Sam slid up the wall, satisfied to see Dean's split lip. Hand cupped under his nose, he headed to the bathroom and shoved a wad of toilet paper up the bleeding nostril. When he returned to the living room, Dean had righted the lamp and put the couch back where it was supposed to be. The magazines and newspapers and the TV remote from the top of the coffee table were stacked beside the end table. Dean was still on the floor, but was sitting next to the coffee table, studying the bottom corner where the leg had broken off.

"How bad is it?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced up at his brother. "Looks better than your face."

Sam made to kick Dean in the side, but his brother must've been anticipating it because he grabbed Sam's ankle and pulled, making Sam fall to the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "Dude," he finally wheezed, still on his back. "We'll be lucky if I'm not concussed."

"Hit me again and I can guarantee brain damage."

Sam flung his leg out and kicked Dean square in the small of his back. "Didn't say nothin' about kicking."

Dean rubbed his back gingerly, hoping his kidneys didn't end up bruised. "Truce?"

"What?"

"Before we kill each other. Truce."

Sam sighed, exasperated. "Fine."

Dean stood and offered Sam his hand to help him up. He didn't let go of Sam's hand though. "Truce?" he asked again.

"Truce," Sam said, rolling his eyes as he shook Dean's hand. "Only because we have to get up to Bobby's. Otherwise-"

"Otherwise, what? I'd kick your ass?"

"In your dreams."

 **oxo**

It was nearing midnight when Sam and Dean pulled into Bobby's driveway. Bobby and John were sitting on the porch, drinking beer. The floodlights from the salvage yard illuminated Sam and Dean's faces just enough for them to see the bruising and swelling. "Jesus," Bobby said. "What kind of trouble did you boys run into?"

Dean only half-smirked so his lip wouldn't split back open. "Each others fists."

John leaned up, elbows on his knees. "Why?"

To which Dean promptly replied, "Ask your daughter."

Sam slugged him in the shoulder _hard_. "Jerk."

" _She_ started it," Dean laughed, slowly backing away. Then he added, "Bitch." He grinned when Sam started after him, not caring that his lip was bleeding again.

John and Bobby watched as the two young Winchesters wrestled around in the front yard. "Boys will be boys," Bobby said, amused.

John just chuckled. "Yeah. Something like that."


End file.
